


that's my epic tale (our champions prevail)

by theunpaidcritic



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Found Family, self-directed ableism, the author leans heavily into the trope Jaime and Brienne should have their own ballads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25785217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunpaidcritic/pseuds/theunpaidcritic
Summary: Witcher Jaime Lannister spends decades fighting monsters, with little to excite him. Then he attends a betrothal banquet on the island of Tarth.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 76
Kudos: 181
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	that's my epic tale (our champions prevail)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renlybardatheon (aheartcalledhome)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheartcalledhome/gifts).



> This fic is written for the 2020 Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange, and my prompt was, "I binge watched The Witcher on Netflix when it came out, so my mind's a little stuck on it. If you could do anything with Jaime as a Witcher, I'd be indebted to you forever, especially if you dealt with the leftover trauma regarding this universe's analogue to Aerys and the wildfire. (Maybe it was one of the trials?) Whether Brienne's a Yennefer analogue, a hedge knight roped into his shenanigans, or a Queen Calanthe of Cintra type, I'll be happy as a clam."
> 
> I hope you enjoy renlybardatheon — I've tried to include as many of your preferences in this story as possible that fit with the Witcher verse! 
> 
> I had not seen The Witcher before researching for this fic, so hopefully I've successfully blended the two canons together. The title of this story is a reference to Jaskier's bard song; I repurposed some plot a few lines from the show, particularly from episode four; and there are, of course, references to GoT throughout.
> 
> Thank you to cytara for your support and suggestions!

I.

From his place of honor, Jaime Lannister narrowed his gaze to observe the guests that crowded into the banquet hall. He had only agreed to attend the betrothal of the island lord’s daughter for his own amusement; likely no one expected he would accept the invitation. If the principal reason for maintaining his fearsome reputation was to preemptively frighten annoyances into keeping their distance, then the most pleasurable consequence was to laugh at the rabble’s surprise when he subverted expectations. Monster hunting became rather mundane after decades of repetition, especially when most of his prey could not return his banter. But while he had originally hoped to use this feast as a means to entertain himself through making subtle jests at the expense of his hosts, their hypocrisy, and their wealth, only minutes after his arrival, he realized this was an event far different than the revels of his past life. 

His entrance did not go unnoticed; he heard whispers of _Kingslayer_ ; he felt the judgmental stares. He had anticipated this; he cared not, for what does a lion care of the sheeps’ opinion? What he did not expect was to be approached by a trio of young men and offered a drink and companionship. As Jaime was eager to hear the gossip about his host, he resolved to endure the men, despite their lack of promise. Tarth, he gathered from the conversation, remained an island of prosperity, despite its small size.

“This island would have been mine after old Lord Selwyn dies,” the ginger bragged, “I was engaged to the _beauty_ years ago, but no piece of land is worth that fate — maybe this match will stick; it only took twenty years to find someone who would have her. Don’t look so confused, Witcher, the lady is built as if she was meant to be one of your kind. She certainly has the disposition for it.”

“Her face alone would make any creature drop dead,” laughed the burly man.

Jaime had heard enough and removed himself from the drunkards just as the most forgettable member of the trio expressed his desire for the lady to accept his suit after her current betrothed was in the grave. Jaime mulled on the possibility that while this was certainly the strangest celebration of his experience, the company of dragons was becoming more preferable by the minute.

Now at the head table to the left of Lord Selwyn Tarth, Jaime caught a glimpse of the one person whose own sour disposition mirrored Jaime’s internal feelings. Jaime studied Lady Brienne, while her father monologued on his perceptions of witchers (which were trite), the potential need for Jaime’s assistance (the odds were not in the man’s favor on that front), and his difficulties securing a betrothal (this conversation recommended Lord Tarth little as a goodfather; perhaps _that_ was the true problem). In honesty, the girl’s asymmetrical face and broad shoulders gave her a mannish appearance, but her astonishing eyes, crackling with anger and determination, and mulish expression invited Jaime to study her with interest. She noticed his attention and blushed under his gaze; he did not find it unattractive, despite what convention told him.

This attraction would only grow hours later, as he learned exactly why the lady had carried such a determined air, as she challenged her elderly husband-to-be to a duel for her own hand and won.

II.

Jaime vowed never again to accept mysterious invitations; he had expected the people of Tarth might desire a champion to slay a drowner, not a bully to enforce the lord’s will upon his daughter. The only blows he delivered during his time on the island were with his tongue, and the only person to escape his attacks was Lady Brienne — he did not need to add to her misfortunes, for she had many. He now regretted this choice, as she chose to add to his.

“You _saw_ me break Ser Humfrey’s bones,” the girl argued as she followed him to the docks, “I am no liability on the road. I could help you.”

“I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me,” he growled.

She glared back at him, and he saw the war between desperation and resolution in her eyes. Jaime suspected that if he attempted to stop her from leaving the island, she would challenge him to a duel. The excitement of crossing blades with the lady did not outweigh his supposition that leaving her to the mercies of her father seemed rather cruel. Surely, they would soon part in their travels.

“Fine,” he grunted and was rewarded with a smile that displayed her crooked teeth. Lady Brienne’s skill with a blade might rival his own, he thought privately, so how much trouble could she be?

III.

The bear’s paw made contact with Brienne’s shoulder, toppling the woman over. Jaime grabbed her arm, yanking her backward.

“Get behind me,” he said, as he placed his body between her and the bear. 

Stupid, brave Brienne attempted to push past her muscular shield, sparing only a breath to spit, “I will not.” 

At the bear’s roar, Jaime returned his focus to the creature, hoping its wrath would be far less than Brienne’s at being coddled.

IV. 

Loneliness blurred Jaime’s memories of the past three decades together with few distinctions. The pattern of moving from region to region, stopping only briefly to kill and collect coin seemed to be the only path forward until Brienne joined him. After several half-hearted attempts to scare her out of his company — he thought he had won their battle of wills when she choked when he began calling her ‘wench’ — Jaime accepted his fate. Only a fortnight needed to pass for Jaime to admit to himself that his favorite pastime now involved seeing how much he could make Brienne flush. She pretended at annoyance, but he suspected that his teasing japes were welcome after a lifetime of insults. 

Another sword was not entirely unwelcome, even if the wielder of that sword was immensely stubborn and brave — an admirable and irritating combination. He was honest enough to admit that if she were harmed, he would miss her, if only because travelling with Brienne meant he could talk to her, rather than the horse. Her reactions to his nonsense were more entertaining by far.

The unfortunate consequence of a witcher absconding with a lord’s daughter, especially one called ‘beauty’ (no matter how ironically), however, was _more_ notoriety. Unlike his altercation with Aerys, which confirmed to the smallfolk every negative assumption they had about witchers, public opinion about his more recent adventure was mixed. He hoped Brienne would never hear the (frankly saccharine) ballad of their supposed romance. Even if Brienne loved stories — her rapt attention as he told her of his adventures reminded him of his previous self, a child who romanced magic and swordplay — he doubted she would appreciate _that_ particular tale.

As they put more and more distance between themselves and the Stormlands, conversation grew more intimate. Curiosity eventually prompted Jaime to ask Brienne about her own history; surprisingly, she indulged him.

“Ser Humfrey Wagstaff was my father’s third attempt at finding me a match,” she said, with a resigned tone. “I tried to be a proper daughter, but all of Tarth scoffed at my attempts.”

“Why did you insist upon leaving Tarth with me? You’re almost as good with a sword as I am, wench” — at this Brienne grimaced — “you could have taken on your own quest.”

“I observed you from the moment you arrived at my _celebration_. You were the only person who did not laugh at me, even when you were surrounded by men who could tell you quite a few stories at my expense — you looked at them in disgust, not me.”

Jaime almost said that he felt the same sensation of acceptance around her but stopped short. She would hardly want to hear maudlin sentimentality from a witcher. He was not meant for such feelings. 

Perhaps Brienne could sense his unease, for she said, “Do not worry. As you said yourself, I am equal in skill to you. I will not need you to save me.”

V.

She did not need him to save her. Quite a few times during their adventures, she saved him.

VI.

Endless storms soaked every inch of the Riverlands; the sheets of grey rain obscured landmarks and roads, which would be momentarily illuminated by the occasional bolt of lightning; one such flash allowed the weary travelers to catch a glimpse of an inn at the crossroads. Once inside the shelter of the inn, basking in the warmth and glow of the fire, Jaime recognized how fortunate he and Brienne were to have happened upon this place — they were the only guests.

The young girl who brought mead to their table could not be more than three-and-ten, and her workers appeared to be even younger. Brienne had clearly noticed this before Jaime, based on the amount of coin she gave the girl for two paltry drinks. 

But the combination of drink and fire must have given Brienne a burst of courage, for she abruptly asked, “What do you want, once you are done fighting monsters?”

He frowned, unwilling to hurt Brienne with harsh words but unwilling to consider the possibility of _more._

“You must want something for yourself,” she prodded. “A family, a home, a companion — I have never seen you speak to anyone but me for longer than necessary.”

The momentary vision of a home — and who he wished to share that home with — led him to snap, “I want nothing.”

Brienne’s expressive eyes told him she did not quite believe his words, but she did not reply. Silence fell over the inn, for even the children had disappeared; only the sounds of storm echoed around them.

Jaime deliberated over how to resume their conversation, but Brienne appeared to be as impenetrable and pale as marble. _Perhaps_ , he thought, _my presence has finally begun to disgust her_ ; a high-pitched scream — somewhat deafened by the rain — interrupted his internal torment.

Brienne did not hesitate; she grabbed her sword and sprinted out of the inn, toward the sound. Jaime spared only a moment to worry over her impulsivity before following her example. 

Through the pouring rain, Jaime could see that two men had surrounded the girl from the inn. Brienne rushed in to defend her, but the mud slowed her progress — he knew her vision was weaker than his own in the night. She needed him, and he would not let harm come to her.

Jaime recalled that the night they had first met, Brienne had been compared to a witcher; in this moment, in a battle where her strength and skill were on display, where her toned-muscles strained to fight two men at once, she could be mistaken for having superhuman strength. Just as she staggered and one of the men — whose face sported a hole in place of his nose — gained the upper hand, Jaime found his opening to protect her. 

Brienne regained her equilibrium, just as the doughier of the two companions charged. Jaime noticed that his teeth were filed into points; Brienne dodged and thrust out her sword.

Jaime returned his concentration to his own opponent, who depended too much on his brute strength. Steel met steel. An opening on the left appeared; Jaime drove his sword into his target. 

Then Brienne screamed — 

The world changes. He lives in the moment of that scream.

He focuses all his senses on her, turns toward the entangled opponents, and manages to drive his sword into the man’s back. 

A stealthy third vandal punctures Jaime’s sword arm from behind, and he knows nothing else.

VII.

Time passes in Westeros, wars wage, a kingdom shatters, but Jaime never forgets the pain that molded him into his current form. So long ago, potions burned through his body like wildfire — he remembers the fever, the seizing, losing control of bodily functions. Jaime had assumed the particular agony that sparked from the changes prepared him to face suffering; nothing would compare with the breakdown and mutation of his body.

He had been wrong. The moment the steel slices through his wrist, Jaime collapses; he feels a sharp pain in his side; all he hears are his own screams, shadows overtake him.

The imprint of trauma from the trials of his youth gives him the ability to understand _this_ is true torment. All past experiences are intensified, as blazing pain courses through his body.

An eternity passes.

The burning ceases. Darkness prevails. He misses his own screams of agony, for at least then he felt. There is only emptiness. 

When he is giving up hope, he hears Brienne’s voice, distorted and faint — but there — calling his name.

When his first conscious thought comes to him, it merely confirms a truth he already knows: he needs her. 

VIII.

Waking from his injuries is psychologically painful; Brienne is by his bedside sobbing; she has never cried in his presence; through her convulsions and gasps, he catches that she blames herself for not protecting him — that he almost died. Jaime manages to make a pathetic quip that if she can bray like a donkey, then she is surely unharmed. She does not laugh; he misses her laughter.

She is afraid he will hate her, and her timidity ruins their equilibrium; he does not comprehend this possibility; he could never hate her.

He follows her gaze to see his right arm now ends at his wrist. He no longer understands his purpose.

IX.

Jaime’s agony only grows as Brienne continues to needlessly punish herself.

He mourns his hand, his purpose, but most of all grieves that he never was worthy of her _before_ much less _now._

Jaime never wavers from the conviction that fighting to save her was worth it.

Brienne never stops believing he has honor, as she explains to him that her faith only grew stronger with his sacrifice.

At a particularly low moment, when he dares to muse aloud that Brienne would be kinder to let him die — for how can he hope to survive fighting a man, much less a kikimora or anything more dangerous, with one hand — she snaps that he must live.

“Why,” he bites back sarcastically, “to seek revenge?”

He thrills when Brienne admits she has already done so on his behalf.

That night, he tells her the secret behind the hated moniker of _Kingslayer_. While the truth further bonds him to Brienne, Jaime worries her trust in him will only ruin her. 

X.

Jaime heals in time — he supposes he should be grateful for his body’s resiliency. Brienne bullies him into training his left hand. He works on his fine motor skills, how to dress himself, the basics of swordsmanship as they travel across Westeros. His mood shifts more frequently than the seasonal winds. One moment, he feels exhilarated that Brienne has not once left him; the next heartbeat he reminds himself that she will soon see how useless he truly is now. He hopes the songs he has heard on the road that celebrate, but nonetheless emphasize, her unladylike behavior have not permanently barred her from returning to her father, if she wishes. He knows the man has attempted to contact her at least once through raven.

As winter approaches, he uses the chill in the air as an excuse to sit closer to Brienne and bask in her warmth like a cat, selfishly taking what affection from her he can. Their near isolation easily lures Jaime into forgetting the conflicts brewing outside their stolen moments. Rumors of rebellion in King’s Landing spread across every corner of Westeros; a group of mages led by a woman in red are said to be investigating a disturbance beyond the Wall; Brienne charts their course, relying only on whispers to guide them safely.

 _Ironically_ , he thinks, _I’ve come to rely on her, when all I do is weigh her down, despite my initial thought it would be the exact opposite._

XI.

Necessity forces Jaime to draw his sword in combat after they encounter three more bandits near the Mountains of the Moon, this time harassing a rather pathetic looking bard. He knows without his strength and Brienne’s insistence on exercising his hand, he would have no chance of victory. Brienne’s resolution never wavers as she positions herself to inevitably defeat all three of their opponents — he is a mere distraction. He wonders if the only monsters he can defeat now are stupid drunkards like those he enountered on Tarth. 

He should get Brienne her own sword of silver if she insists on roaming the wilds with him in perpetuity; perhaps he should gift her his — they are far more likely to survive a monster if she wields it. 

The boy — for this bard is far younger than Brienne — stutters his thanks, in shock at still having breath in his lungs. 

Podrick Payne knows exactly who they are; it is he who Jaime and Brienne can thank for the tales of their adventures being sung across Westeros. If Brienne would not protest, then Jaime would gut him for writing love ballads — Jaime is not sure he is more offended by their poor quality or by the fact that they nevertheless make his heart ache, knowing they will never be true.

From Podrick, they learn the Vale is now led by Petyr Baelish, whose rise to power has caused unrest between the dwarves and humans that inhabit the mountain cities. The bard seeks to arrive at Riverrun in time for a feast where he might find employment. Brienne swiftly promises to see the boy to his destination, much to Jaime’s annoyance. 

As the day grows longer, Jaime finds himself sulking as Brienne gives more attention to Podrick, lecturing him on basic defense tactics.

She finally notices his uncharacteristic silence, huffs, and returns her attention to him. There is no logical reason for him to be jealous of a boy even he could beat in a fight.

He is.

XII. 

When the trio arrive at Riverrun and do not leave Podrick to his own fate but rather gain entrance to the celebrations, dread overwhelms Jaime’s senses. Then he spots Lord and Lady Stark at the high table with the Tullys and accepts that once Brienne hears their view of his character, he will finally be left on his own. 

_Perhaps my solitary wandering in the wilderness will be ended by a wolf_ , he muses — at least this would provide Podrick symbolic narrative closure, if the boy decides to chronicle his death.

Filled with resignation, Jaime spends most of his night in a dark corner, watching Brienne and Podrick through his cat-like eyes. Brienne hovers over the boy, until Catelyn Stark approaches and draws her aside, leaving the bard to charm the hall with his voice. Despite his dark mood, Jaime smiles at how Brienne has taken to mothering the boy through their arduous days and nights on the road. The levity instantly disappears when he notices Brienne’s grimace at whatever the lady is telling her. He is considering whether or not he should interfere, when Catelyn’s expression shifts from its usual — at least in Jaime’s experience — disapproving glower to admiration. 

Brienne shines so brightly even his disreputability cannot snuff out her light. 

Before he had met Brienne, he divided his life into a ‘before’ and ‘after,’ marked by the trials. Now he relates the ‘before’ and ‘after’ to her; she reminds him of the reasons why he loved tales of monster-slayers as a boy, of the importance of keeping innocents safe; her faith gives him hope that one day _Kingslayer_ might be said as more than an insult; she is his guiding star.

Jaime keeps to his corner, but the rest of the evening is spent in peace as he meditates, tuning out Podrick’s newest ballad detailing the boy’s own rescue. He does not notice Brienne until she gently touches his shoulder.

“Are you,” she begins, then pauses, “Do you want to leave?”

He _does_ want to leave but senses Brienne would only do so for him; in fact, this may be the first celebration she has truly enjoyed.

“No,” he replies, trying to sound slightly less dour, “But I am curious about how you managed to enrapture Catelyn Stark.”

Jaime has not seen her turn this red since their early days on the road together. 

Her disinclination to illuminate does little to dissuade his curiosity. “Don’t be so withholding, wench,” he needles. “I behaved myself all night and deserve encouragement, if you wish to induce me to replicate this effort in the future.”

She merely scowls at him. Before he can further attempt to extract information from her, Jaime is distracted by the approach of Ned Stark. For two decades, he has felt nothing but antagonism toward Stark, which tends to manifest itself in defensive sarcasm and what Brienne would call boorish behavior. He locks eyes with the wolfish man, who exudes smug satisfaction once he senses the tension Jaime feels at his presence.

“Lady Brienne,” Stark says once he is in speaking distance, “my wife wishes to continue your conversation.”

Brienne excuses herself with a jerky half-bow, leaving the two men to silently glare at one another — Brienne’s presence will no longer curb Jaime’s behavior, if Stark chooses to provoke his ire.

When Stark warms to his subject, however, it is Jaime for once who is struck silent.

XIV. 

Brienne finds him in the stables, caring for the horses, as the revelry dies down.

“You seem so fond of them,” she says. “I have never understood why your horse remains nameless.”

He feels too raw to answer her, so he simply grunts his acknowledgment.

She tries another topic, “Podrick was very well received tonight, although I believe some of his songs are rather fanciful.”

Jaime feels more than hears her sigh at his continued silence; he knows his dark moods since the inn have probably been tedious, but soon she will no longer have to placate him. Stark’s satisfaction when he told Jaime the news still ranckled, even if he was happy her father had finally come to his senses and declared her to be his sole heir — she would no longer need to marry to rule as the Evenstar. 

Brienne’s hand gently seizes his, forcing him to look in her eyes. The uncertainty he sees there pains him.

“Have I offended you,” she asks. “I did not mean to leave you alone for —”

“I see that as merely a preview to my near future.”

She cringes, so he knows she understands his meaning. Emotions he cannot read flicker across her face, before determination overtakes her features.

“I do not know what Lord Stark told you, but I am not returning to Tarth,” she says fiercely. “Not unless you are with me.”

He has many questions for Brienne about what happened between her and the Starks, about how she envisions her future, if not as heir of Tarth, but all he can find himself asking now is, “Why?”

She smiles a little before saying, “Jaime, isn’t it time we admit we need each other?”

XV.

Shock weakens his knees. With as much dignity as he can manage while arranging himself on a bale of straw, he asks, his voice shaking, “You love me too?” He then realizes Brienne probably meant they need each other as comrades in arms and might want him to be her sworn shield or at least —

“Jaime,” she says, snapping his attention back to reality. Her voice is colored by emotion when she asks, “How could I not?”

All of the hesitations that previously held Jaime back once again break to the surface — what would they do about children; what would Brienne do about his reputation; what ghosts from his past might haunt them; what would he _do,_ as his recovery has made it clear that tracking and killing monsters was no longer a viable means to earn coin, at least for the moment. When he expresses these thoughts aloud, however, Brienne does not need to pause before answering in rapid succession — they could adopt Podrick; at this point _she_ probably had the worse reputation (this is utterly false); and they would face challenges together, as they always had, whether they be past or present.

“If you make Pod your heir,” Jaime muses, “I suspect it is as likely he will write even more songs about your deeds than give them up for more lordly pursuits.”

“All the more reason to give him many new responsibilities,” she replies with a lofty tone, but Jaime sees the humor twinkling in her eyes.

“Or we could adopt one of Stark’s sons. Make it a condition he take the Lannister name.”

Instead of chiding him like Jaime expects, Brienne asks, “Why not one of the daughters?”

“That might be better. I heard the young one is almost as wild as you.”

Silence briefly falls before Jaime says, “I’m afraid I cannot duel you for your hand.”

“I could always duel you for yours.”

“You would win.”

“And when I did, I would make you stop calling me _wench._ ”

He smiles at that. Then remembers the fateful banquet and says, “You know, I remember thinking the night we met that the only reason your father could not find a man happy to marry you was himself. But for you, I could endure the relation.”

Both anger and disbelief cross her face, before she chooses to laugh, “I’m sure that would give Pod the material for his most popular song yet.”

They sit amongst the horses laughing until the sun begins to rise. He stands and offers Brienne his hand — she does not let go as they walk back to the castle in search of their wayward bard. 

Jaime spitefully hopes he will be able to see Stark’s face when he discovers the news. He idly wonders how Lord Tarth will feel when Brienne returns with a debilitated witcher and an overly worshipful bard. If they return to Tarth, he prays the conflicts plaguing Westeros will not reach the small island’s shores. But these fleeting thoughts soon pass as he revels in the warmth and light of Brienne.

As they near the castle, Jaime hears faint notes to the tune of Podrick’s ode to the witcher and his lady love. _The ballad might be overly sentimental_ , he thinks, _but perhaps it has some redeeming value._ He would leave it to the future to decide and allowed himself to be swept up in a current of hope and love. 


End file.
